


Restitution

by Rynfinity



Series: Out of the Mouths of Babes [4]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the bottom, it's a long way back to level.</p><p>This is a direct sequel to Consequences and will make the most sense read after its predecessors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thor tries to make things better.

A calm, patient-sounding counselor from the crisis center calls him back within the hour; Thor’d assured the woman he spoke with earlier that he’d still be awake and, sure enough, he is. This social worker is a man, which makes the discussion at once easier and more difficult. “I have a history of violent behavior myself,” he tells Thor. “That’s part of what drew me to this work; I’m giving back. Making restitution, I suppose you could say.”

Right up until they start talking about his situation, Thor isn’t sure if he will make this conversation a brother thing or a lover thing. He doesn’t dare do both, even on an anonymous call. In the end he does neither, just saying “friend” and letting the social worker complete the picture in his own head however he chooses.

It’s a good conversation just the same, and the guy gives Thor some helpful, easy-to-implement-sounding pointers for de-escalating things before they can get out of control. He and Thor agree to talk again in two days; sooner, if Thor feels he’s losing it.

“Be kind to yourself,” the social worker tells him as they wrap up their session. “This doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

When Thor puts down the phone, he’s crying.

~

“Why are you here?” Sigyn’s eyes narrow. Thor spends his days working with criminals and knows the drill; he can see from the angle of her shoulders that her left hand is hovering by a panic button under the counter.

He holds both of his own hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “I need your help. Well, Loki needs your help. I mean you no harm, I promise.”

She studies his face carefully, weighing her options. It’s a look he’s seen before, too, many times – it’s the same one his friends give Loki when they’re not sure if he’s telling the truth or screwing them over. Thor gets it: Sigyn doesn’t trust him. It all makes sense - of course she doesn’t, given what happened last time they spoke - but it hurts just the same. Thor is one of the _good guys_ \- he really isn’t accustomed to people looking at him this way.

He can’t help but wonder if this- if this is how it feels to be Loki.

Finally, Sigyn nods. “Okay. I’ll hear you out, at least, and we’ll go from there. Alice,” she calls, turning to the woman at the other end of dispensing area, “I’ll be in the break room.” She gives Thor another long look. “And if I’m not back in ten minutes, come check on me, okay?”

 _That_ gets Alice’s attention; now _she’s_ giving Thor _the look_ too. The whole business is acutely uncomfortable and he wants nothing more than to leave.

 _No, you need to stay; you need to do this, for Loki,_ he reminds himself sternly. _You owe it to him._ He does. _After everything you’ve done, you need to make restitution,_ he thinks, remembering what the counselor said overnight. Thor can, and he will, and he must; he grits his teeth and follows Sigyn off down the hall.

~

They’ve tried to make the clinic’s public space bright and cheery, the requisite stained fluorescent lights shining down on creamy yellow paint and inspirational posters and even a few vases of fresh flowers here and there, but the rest of the place looks to be that same awful institutional green Thor is beginning to associate with going straight to Hell. As Sigyn motions to a chipped orange plastic chair, he flashes back to Loki in the straightjacket and shudders, mouth suddenly dry. Thankfully, her back is to him; if his face gives him away, she doesn’t see it.

“Can I get you something to drink? We have soda.” She turns back towards him - standing in front of a ratty old refrigerator, its doors covered with advertising magnets - a can of _grape something_ dangling from her fingers.

“Sure, thanks. Whatever you’re having.” At least he’ll be able to swallow again.

Sigyn pulls out the chair across from him and sits, arms crossed, soda untouched on the battered table in front of her. “So, you say you and Loki need my help. Forgive me for saying so, but I’m a little puzzled.” She doesn’t look puzzled so much as angry, really.

It’s a fair response, Thor reminds himself. He nods, trying very hard to follow the counselor’s instructions and not meet emotion with emotion. “Loki had- well, an accident.” Her face changes; Thor has to look at his soda can. “I can’t take any more days off work right now, and he’s not going to really be able to take care of himself for at least a week. I was wondering-,” he hesitates, suddenly aware she might have a day job or… well, a life. “I was wondering if you could stop by once a day and help him with his medications and stuff. I can do the rest.”

“They’ve given him narcotics.” It’s not really a question; he just lets her continue. “What sort of accident _was_ this, Thor?” There’s an edge in her voice that scares him a little.

“If you can help, I’ll let Loki tell you that part.”

She shifts in her seat. “And why me?”

Thor plays his trump card, feeling more than a little dirty about it. “Well, we don’t have a lot of options… and Loki tells me you just want to help him.” Her eyes narrow again. “I’ll pay you, of course,” he assures her.

At that, she laughs. “You can’t buy everyone and everything, Thor Odinson. Yes,” she continues as he can’t help but recoil, “I know who you are. But don’t worry; your secrets are safe with me. As long as you don’t hurt me.”

Elbows on the table, Thor lets his head drop until his forehead rests heavily on his fingers. “I’m doing my best to be done with hurting people,” he says quietly.

Sigyn sighs. “Okay,” she says, and he can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “What do you need me to do?”

~

They make arrangements for her to stop by on her meal break, which is right around Thor’s usual bedtime, so he can show her Loki’s routine. Halfway through the logistics Alice sticks her head in. “Everything okay in here, Sig?”

Thor turns to give her his best winning smile. Her hand is over the panic button by the doorframe. _Awesome_.

Sigyn waves her off. “We’re good, thanks. Anything else,” she asks Thor as she pushes back from the table and stands.

He can feel himself blushing. “Um, could you please- um- could you not-…” he trails off, looking up at her helplessly, unable to get the words out.

She laughs again, not particularly kindly. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of the poor vulnerable thing.” Her expression changes, to something close to sorrow. “I think he just did- did that to get at you anyway. I’m not really who he wants.”

“Thank you,” Thor makes himself say, ignoring the way that last bit makes his chest tighten painfully. He finishes his soda in one last big swallow, carefully not burping. “I appreciate it, really,” he adds as he gets to his feet as well.

“You shouldn’t mess with his head, you know.” She reaches for his can. “We recycle,” she explains as he flinches. “Every penny counts here.”

“Oh, sure, sorry.” Now he feels stupid, on top of everything else. He stands aside politely, letting her make her way to the door.

“I mean that,” Sigyn says. “About Loki. Not the recycling. Well, and the recycling.” For the first time she actually looks as uncomfortable as Thor feels. “Look, I don’t get what the two of you do. To me it’s creepy and gross. But you’re both grown-ups and I respect your right to make your own choices.” She pauses to clear her throat. “So, he loves you more than anything. You need to make up your mind about the whole thing and stop sending him mixed messages. He needs consistency in his life, get it?”

He isn’t sure he _does_ get it, but he nods just the same. When they come back out into the reception area, Thor slips five hundred dollars under the counter.

Every penny counts here.

~

Sigyn stops by right on schedule. Her demeanor around Loki is friendly and professional; there’s not even a hint of flirtation this time. She doesn’t react at all as Thor cards gentle fingers through his brother’s hair, even when Loki purrs and nuzzles Thor’s hip in return. _Good._ He’s still uncomfortable having her here, no doubt about it, but it at least looks like whatever once passed between her and Loki is- well, not passing between them now.

“Can you talk,” she asks Loki, holding up a silencing hand when Thor tries to answer for him.

Loki nods. “Shorta. Iss gettink bettuh,” he continues, looking up at Thor.

Thor strokes his brother’s hair, trying for reassuring. “It is,” he agrees. “Look, Sigyn is going to be stopping by around lunchtime for a few days to help you with your medication and your rinsing. Don’t give her a hard time, okay?”

“Okay,” Loki says, and it sounds almost normal.

~

After Sigyn leaves, Thor helps Loki into the bathroom and changes the dressing on his jaw. It’s the first time either of them have seen the nasty contraption – pins right through his face, skin and all, with more wires holding them together – that’s stabilizing the worst of the fractures. Thor’s stomach clenches. Loki, though, tries to grin. Winces. “Ow.” He turns his head from side to side, admiring himself in the mirror. “I look vadass,” he pronounces, lisping.

“What you look is dirty,” Thor counters. “Up to a scrubbing this time?”

Loki looks at him a long, long time before nodding.

~

Thor helps Loki into the bathtub and then tries to be all business, soaping his brother’s body with a washcloth and fruity bath gel and pointedly not lingering anywhere he… shouldn’t.

When he moves on to Loki’s ratty hair, though, fingers gently massaging his brother’s scalp, it quickly becomes impossible to continue pretending either of them is unaffected.

As Thor rinses out the last of the shampoo and starts on the endless tangles, Loki moans.

“C’mere?”

Thor laughs quietly. When he answers – “I don’t think we’ll both fit in there. Tell you what, let’s get you dried off and we can finish this in bed” – his voice is embarrassingly rough. He laughs again. Stupid fucking nerves.

His fingers are still tangled in Loki’s hair. Thor almost goes on to say _I mean we can finish untangling that rat’s nest,_ but Sigyn’s earlier observation about mixed messages stops him. It’s not what he means, really – not at all.

~

Loki is fragile. Breakable. Thor, feeling utterly terrified, is careful with him like never before. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as Loki – settled comfortably against his chest, head on Thor’s shoulder and uninjured cheek resting warmly against his neck – hums. Sheets and blankets slide down to pool across their thighs as Thor, his brother’s hands on his to guide the way, runs shaking fingers lightly up and down the pale expanse of Loki’s chest.

As their interlaced fingertips stutter across his nipples Loki moans again and slides Vaseline-covered lips along Thor’s jaw. “Hey, none of that,” Thor warns. “You’ll hurt yourself.” More than anything, he wants to put that part of their lives – all the hurting, all the pain – behind him. Behind _them_.

He gives Loki a gentle squeeze. “Show me what you want,” he offers instead. “Show me what you need,” he amends, pressing a kiss to Loki’s damp temple.

Clear, insistent pressure steers Thor’s hand down down down. Loki makes a happy little noise when his brother doesn’t resist, snuggling tighter against Thor as their conjoined fingers wrap around his erection.

Thor lets Loki set the pace. He makes himself pay attention to his brother’s cues, not letting himself get lost in their lovemaking. He owes Loki this, after all; owes him undivided attention, and pleasure instead of pain.

It doesn’t take very long. Thor whispers “that’s it, baby” against Loki’s ear as he feels the pulsations start. He kisses his brother’s cheek; Loki’s body goes rigid and warm wetness fills Thor’s hand.

~

Thor would say “I love you,” but he can’t just now; yet again, he’s crying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hell with the _one step forward;_ Loki and Thor just take five steps back.

"Just because I can't talk as well as I normally can, don't think for one goddamn second that that gives you a fucking free pass to run right over my feelings like a fucking semi. _Do I make myself clear, Thor?_ " Even mad as he is, which is impressively mad, Loki barely lisps now.

Thor can’t even remember what they’re fighting about.

He sees Loki’s hand shoot up and ducks. The tumbler hits the wall behind his head and shatters, spraying his neck and shoulders with water and broken glass. "Jesus, Loki!" Thor shakes like a wet dog, glass clinking and plonking as it hits the hardwood floor. "Yes, you have made yourself amply clear. And Loki?" He's furious now too, blood beading from a dozen tiny, shallow cuts, and he just can't bite the words back fast enough. "Any fucking time you want to try shutting the hell up, the world will be a better place for it."

Loki still can't really full-on scream, not with any hope of being even remotely close to intelligible.

Which doesn't stop him from trying.

The noise is awful. When he finally exhausts himself and stops, the dressing on Loki’s jaw is soaked with blood from where barely-healed skin and muscle have pulled against the metal pins. He collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving, tears and snot and blood everywhere.

Thor melts a little, watching his brother struggle. "You're frustrated. I get it, I do. I shouldn't have yelled at you," he adds, carefully making his way among the glittering splinters.

When he gets to the side of the bed, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around one of Loki’s pale, sweaty ankles.

His brother kicks out sharply with the other foot, catching Thor so hard in the wrist that half that hand goes numb and tingly.

Thor bellows and lunges for Loki's feet, only to be brought up short by the stabbing pain as he steps down hard on a piece of glass. "Oh, fuck everything." He throws both hands up in the air. "Just fuck it. Fuck it all to fucking hell!"

It's hard to stomp dramatically out of the room when you're hobbling, but Thor manages a really satisfying door slam just the same.

Loki's wordless howl, though? _That_ isn't nearly as satisfying as it would have been just a few short days ago.

~

Thor spends far longer than strictly necessary in the bathroom, perched on the toilet lid, picking a long curved glass spike out of the pad of his heel. Painting the puncture with one of Loki's Betadine swabs. Letting the whole thing dry. Slapping on one of those colorful kids' Band-Aids with the built-in antibiotic goo.

 _Talking himself back down._ Which he badly, badly needs to do.

He's so jacked, in fact, that it isn't until he's rinsed his shoulder, shaken the last sparkling splinters out of his messy, curling hair, and splashed his face three or four times with icy-cold tap water that it hits him:

He has left Loki alone and hurting, in nothing short of a _state,_ behind a closed door.

_WITH A ROOMFUL OF BROKEN FUCKING GLASS._

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Thor sprints back into the bedroom, pain in his foot completely forgotten. He may run right through the glass; if he does, he doesn't even notice.

Loki is still sprawled out on the bed, unmoving.

There is quite a bit of blood.

When the door completes its arc and slams loudly against the wall, though, Loki’s big green eyes open.

In that moment, Thor swears his own heart stops. Whether it actually does or not, he cannot fucking breathe.

~

When he – blotting with his own t-shirt, ripped off in a panic – gets things cleaned up enough to assess the situation, Thor can see the cuts are deep - deep enough to scar, probably deep enough for stitches if only either of them led a halfway sane and normal life - but not dangerously so. They're all up in the soft tissue on the underside of Loki's forearm, not down in the kill zone inside the wrist.

Still, it gets worse. A lot worse.

It’s not random.

The handwriting is surprisingly neat, considering - orderly inch-high block, upper case, carved with a level of exacting, painstaking attention to detail that's positively sickening to contemplate. What ultimately turns Thor's stomach inside out, though, right onto the bedroom floor, is the message itself:

_I (heart) THOR_

And although the blood still wells up quickly when he lets up pressure, the words stand out in horrifying relief before they're once again obliterated.

“Jesus, Loki.” What is there to say, really?

Thor can’t handle this; he can’t. Like it or not, and he doesn’t like it, he needs help. And this is probably above Sigyn’s pay grade… not to mention it’s none of her business. It’s going to have to be Sif, then. Still keeping steady pressure on Loki’s arm, Thor digs out his phone with the other hand. 8:22pm. Sif doesn’t normally report to work until just before 11:00. It will have to do.

“I’m going to call Sif,” he warns, but all the fight seems to have gone out of his brother now; Loki lies limp and soggy in the bloody sheets, just watching Thor silently from under spiky, wet black lashes.

“Sorry to impose yet again,” he leads off, not even bothering with _hello._ “Can you stop by my place? We- um- really need your help just now.”

She sighs, loudly.

“And Sif,” he goes on before she can refuse, “it’s a bit of a mess in here. Just so you’re not surprised.”

At that she laughs. “I’m not sure either of you is capable of surprising me anymore, honestly. Well, maybe your brother, but not you.” She sighs again. “Okay, okay. I can be there in about 20 minutes. Is that good enough?”

Thor looks around the room. It should be. He’s not going to leave Loki alone again, after all, so it’s not like things will get worse. “Sure,” he says. “And Sif? Wear stuff you don’t mind getting dirty.”

She laughs again. “You just want to look at my boobs while I’m changing into my scrubs.”

He can’t even laugh. “Thanks, Sif. I owe you.”

“You do, buddy,” she counters. “At this rate, before long you will be buying me a brand new car.” She laughs again. “A Lexus, even.”

~

Thor tears a few strips off his shirt hem and uses them to bind Loki’s arm tightly. He needs to carry his brother with him to get the door – there is absolutely no way he is trusting Loki, even as quiet and listless as his brother is presently, in here alone just now – and it won’t do to be dripping blood all over the entire apartment.

The buzzer sounds. Thor hefts Loki like a fairy princess, holding his brother close against his chest, and finally manages to get it out: “I love you too, baby, I do… and I believe you… but Loki, seriously, that’s a hell of a way to show it.”

~

If Sif is shocked by the mess – and maybe she really isn’t; she deals with this sort of shit on a regular basis, even when she isn’t hanging out with Team Odinson – she doesn’t show it. Instead she gives the room a long, appraising look and then addresses Loki: “Off your meds, are you?”

He nods against Thor’s naked chest, tears and sweat and blood smearing everywhere.

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor admonishes.

Sif cocks an eyebrow. “What, you’re surprised that a _dead person_ might be off his psychotropics? Which he hates to start with, and has no way to get now? Thor, Thor…” – she shakes her head mock-sadly – “sometimes I think you truly might be just as stupid as your brother says you are. Seriously, Thor, do you understand what’s up with Loki at all? Sometimes I wonder.”

Loki stiffens in Thor’s arms, probably expecting to be punished for his part in that one, but Thor doesn’t have it in him to react. He just cuddles his brother closer. “I didn’t think about it.” It’s true. He should have, and he sees that now, but he didn’t.

“And neither of you bothered to tell me, so I didn’t tell the hospital. Awesome.” She steps closer, ruffling Loki’s sweaty hair. “You really shouldn’t be on the stuff they gave you, baby.” Another sigh. “It’s going to make you fucking crazy. Put him down and go clean up, Thor.”

Thor sets Loki down on the sofa; gently, gently, like his brother is made out of spun glass. “Can you bandage his arm properly for me,” he asks, realizing a second too late that she’s going to _see what Loki carved_. “Or, um, don’t and I will get to it later.”

Her eyes narrow. She’s just too smart, Sif is. “Absolutely, I’d be happy to,” she says, as she starts to unwrap the wreckage of Thor’s torn, bloody t-shirt. “In fact, I would like nothing better.”

Oh, well… there’s nothing he can do about it now.

~

While Thor strips off the sheets and pours peroxide on the blood-soaked mattress, sweeping up chunks of glass and mopping up his own vomit, Sif makes some calls. “I can’t get anything for him tonight,” she explains once he comes back into the living room, “but if you go to the corner pharmacy tomorrow morning they will hook you up. I had the doctor prescribe to Loki’s fake ID; you’ll want that with you when you make the pickup. And Thor? It will take a few days for Loki to level out. Can you try being just a _little_ more careful?” She rolls her eyes. “I can only do so much damage control, you know? Someday one of you will go too far.”

~

That night, even long after Sif leaves for work, Thor doesn’t sleep at all. He just holds his brother close, humming softly and doing his best to keep the wolves at bay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif gives Thor a hand. So does Loki.

“So, how long has this been going on?”

Thor knows what Sif means, of course, but he plays stupid anyway. “This?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t even start with me. You know exactly what I mean.” And he does; he just- well, he doesn’t want to have to be the first one to admit to it. There’s no point in lying, so he simply says nothing. “This whatever-it-is between you and Loki,” she finally clarifies when he just sits there, silent, eyebrows pinched together in mock-puzzlement.

“You read the arm.” Thor really isn’t sure he can talk about this.

Sigyn was one thing; they’re not friends, for starters, and she came in firing with both barrels and basically left him with no choice but to react.

Sif is different. They go way back. They have a history. Not to mention, she’s left him far too much time to think before speaking. Before reacting.

And when he has time to think, well, he just isn’t sure he _can_ speak.

Sif, though, apparently has more than enough confidence to go around. “Yes,” she says, both looking and sounding more than a little exasperated, “I read the arm. Speaking of which: that is so wrong, by the way. And so permanent. But all that aside, Thor, I have eyes. I’ve seen you two together. I didn’t need to _read Loki’s new body art_ to know the two of you are- you’re lovers. Or whatever you want to call it.”

It feels like a punch in the gut. Like he can’t breathe. “What would you call it,” he makes himself ask, doing the best he can to keep her talking so he doesn’t have to.

“Me? Even without this particular little twist I’d call the two of you sick fucking codependents.” She laughs. “It’s only a guess, but I’m thinking you tell yourself it’s something nicer.”

Actually, he tries not to tell himself anything at all. “Since college,” he says instead; her first question is suddenly looking rather easier by comparison. Everything is relative. Pun expressly _not_ intended.

“College. Hmm.” She nods, expression thoughtful. “Now that you say that, I’m actually not surprised.” She tilts her head, clinking her spoon against her mug’s rim. “During Jane?”

Thor chokes on his own coffee. “Loki was locked up,” he says once he can talk again. He wipes his nose on the back of his wrist. “During Jane, I mean. First in the nuthouse and then in jail.”

“So Jane was just a placeholder,” Sif muses, nodding again. “She must have loved that.”

“That’s not-….” _Not what it was,_ he ought to say. _It wasn’t like that at all. I loved Jane_. Instead, he blurts out “I thought I could make it work,” then winces. “Oh god, that sounds awful. I didn’t mean it that way.” But he did, actually. He makes himself shut the hell up on that particular topic before he digs himself an even deeper hole.

A hole that collapses in on him, smothering him.

_A hole that buries him alive._

“And, yeah,” he says instead, “I guess you could say she was pretty displeased.”

“Oh, I can imagine.” Sif snickers. “What about before that? Were you- with him during us?” She doesn’t sound anything close to upset, not at all; just curious. It’s been a long time. Even so, the question shocks him.

“No! No, absolutely not,” he exclaims. “Not until after us.” That much is all true, at least. He never once laid so much as an inappropriate finger on Loki until-.

“But that wasn’t _because_ of us,” she observes, snapping him partially out of his uncomfortable reverie.

Not nearly far enough out, though. Not far enough at all. “Of course not. It was because he was underage.”

And then Thor realizes – far, far too late – what he’s just said.

_Fuck._

He can feel himself turning redder than red, the burning flush creeping quickly up his neck and face. “Shit, Sif. I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

She only smiles, though, and gently at that. “Don’t be. It’s actually good to hear. Explains a lot, really. I always knew something wasn’t right between us.” She plays with her coffee mug for a minute, turning it round and round between her hands. When she looks back up, she’s still smiling. “And now I don’t have to wonder what it was anymore, do I?”

Thor has to look away. He feels like he’s going to fucking die. This is not who he is. It’s not. He’s not some weird perverted creeper who has wanted nothing but his baby brother since he was old enough to want at all.

He isn’t. He hasn’t.

No.

Just no.

As he fishes frantically for a change of topic, though, Sif goes on: “So, now that you’re starting to come to terms with whatever-it-is, what’s your plan?”

Who plans? “Plan,” he repeats, stalling. “Plan for what?”

Sif just laughs, shaking her head. “Sometimes you are such a fool, Thor, aren’t you?” Well, yes, that he is, but he’s not going to own up to it just now. “What’s your plan for the two of you,” she spells out. “You can’t keep your bro- you can’t keep _Loki_ cooped up in here forever. He’s not your pet.” She frowns, just now managing to look a little concerned for the first time in this whole horribly awkward conversation. “You do know that, right?”

“I’m not looking for a pet,” he huffs, although part of him wonders if that just might be a lie. He forces it down; he’s facing more than enough already. “But I can’t let him go running around on his own. He gets into too much trouble.” He sighs. “It’s just not safe.” For either of them. “He- he needs to be taken care of.”

She purses her lips. “He _needs_ to be back in treatment, is what he needs.”

Thor bristles. “He does not! He’s fine!” If he just says it enough, he can’t help thinking, he can make it true. Even though - _because_ \- he knows it isn’t. The social worker calls that _magical thinking,_ and wants him to stop, but he keeps right on doing it anyway.

“ _Fine,_ Thor,” she scoffs, “really? He just carved your fucking name into his own flesh with broken glass because- because- well, because he _does things like that._ Does that seem even remotely like _fine_ to you? Does it?”

“Does what seem fine?”

They both jump. Thor spins around, chair scraping across the floor, and sloshes lukewarm coffee everywhere.

Loki hums quietly, voice still rough with sleep.

Thor’s sneaky little brother is leaning – almost directly behind where he had been sitting – up against the kitchen doorframe. His stomach drops.

 _He can’t have been there long,_ Thor tells himself; _Sif would have said something._ Still. Jesus.

“You do realize,” Loki starts in a bit sharply, “that, when you freak out enough to spill shit all over yourself, any answer that doesn’t amount to _oh, we were just talking about you behind your back, brother_ is going to sound like nothing other than the worst sort of lie…”

“Loki,” Thor warns, but Sif cuts him off before he can really get going.

“What’s to lie about? We _were_ talking about you,” she confirms, easily. Thor shoots her his best death glare, which she of course manages to completely and thoroughly ignore. “Starting back on your meds is good, sure, but it’s just that – a _start_. You really do need to get back into a managed treatment program.”

“I will NOT,” Loki states hotly, with that edge in his voice that always means big trouble, “go back to that shithole. Will. Not. No one – and I do mean NO one – is _putting me away_ just to avoid having to deal with how I’m a big fucking nuisance. I’m serious,” he declares, voice about as loud as he can do right now without hurting himself. “I mean it. I will literally fucking kill-.”

Thor can’t help it; he can’t listen to-.

“Hold on, Thor.” Sif hisses, reaching out and catching him by the arm before he makes it even halfway to standing. It’s all those years of fencing; she’s still quicker than quick when she needs to be. “I meant an outpatient program, Loki. I did,” she assures- well, both of them, Thor supposes. “With some support from Thor, and your friends, I really think you can make that work.”

Loki snorts. “Right. Sure. I don’t have friends.”

Sif cocks an eyebrow. “Why, thank you. I love you, too.”

At that, Loki makes a funny little noise that almost counts as laughing. “See? I make people hate me.” And then his eyes narrow. “Wait,” he says right to Thor. “You told her, didn’t you.”

~

This is where Sif is just _better at people_ than Thor is. She doesn’t let Loki get under her skin at all. “He didn’t need to tell me, kiddo. Like I reminded him earlier, I do have eyes, you know. And you two are just so fucking subtle.”

Thor doesn’t for the life of him get how she does it, but it works somehow; that simply, with nothing more than a little skillful snark, she’s defused the whole thing. Loki is actually smiling now, as much as he can with all that crap sticking through his face, and for once it looks genuine.

Not like he’s the predator and Sif is the prey. Or the other way around, for that matter, although with Loki the latter possibility is quite a bit less common… unless he’s butting heads with his brother.

“I suppose we are, now that you mention it,” Loki agrees, still surprisingly cheerful.

Sif stands, stretches, and tugs at the back of her jeans. “I should get going. Do me – and yourself – a favor and _think about treatment,_ okay, Loki? Oh, and thanks for the coffee. Don’t get up, Thor; seriously, I do know where the door is. I come here enough, after all”

~

As soon as she’s gone, Loki sidles up behind Thor and sets both hands – cold even through a t-shirt - on his brother’s broad shoulders. “So, tell me: Is that really what you two were talking about?”

 _Before,_ Thor would have gotten all defensive (and for no reason, too, but his temper rarely needs a reason). He and Loki would have fought. Something would have gotten broken. But he’s trying his hardest not to blow off steam that way anymore.

He knows he needs to do better. He _wants_ to do better, with or without a plan.

This time, instead of arguing, he nods.

~

“I miss kissing you,” Loki whispers, lips warm and slippery on the back of Thor’s neck, “and licking you. I miss having your tongue in my mouth. Your fingers. Your cock,” he adds, trailing one hand – his undamaged arm, the one not wrapped in yards of white gauze – down Thor’s chest and belly.

 _Before,_ Loki would have taken what he wanted, pushing and pushing and not even thinking to wait for yes or no. This time, though, he pauses with just the very tips of his fingers inside the waistband of Thor’s jeans. “May I touch you,” he asks quietly, hand shifting slightly as Thor’s breathing quickens.

It seems Loki is trying, too; evidently he, too, wants to do better.

Thor, for his part, just wants. His pants are so tight they hurt. “Ohhh, yes,” he replies, and it’s almost a whimper. “Yes, please.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good comes with bad comes with the good.

By the end of the fourth full week After the Fracture, as Thor has come to think of it, things are finally looking up. He's been putting real work into therapy, going twice a week and really trying hard, and it _is_ helping: He hasn't laid a hand on Loki in anger in weeks.

Or punched a wall. Or even really yelled, except for once or twice... and both times he realized it, manned up, and apologized for his own bad behavior without trying to take responsibility for Loki’s.

Thor is also learning just how much it can help - which turns out to be _a lot,_ far more than he ever could have imagined - to have people in his life that he can really talk to. As someone who has always been effortlessly popular and well-liked, Thor can see now that he'd somehow managed to confuse the superficial appearance of friendship - the back-slapping and the man hugs, the happy hours, the card games, the sports - with the real thing. Having Sif around, and knowing he can be honest and open with her about his relationship with Loki, is leaving Thor feeling a whole lot less crazy.

~

By the end of the fifth week, Loki's jaw is nearly healed. He isn't back in a treatment program yet - _I just can't handle that until I can talk like a normal person again,_ he'd said, and Thor 2.0 had taken him at face value and just let it go - but he's taking all his meds again, regularly, and there hasn't been a flying glass, a horrible tantrum, or a dark day spent entirely in bed in quite a while.

There hasn't been any blood.

Loki isn't even threatening to go after the wires himself with the wire-cutters anymore; just complaining occasionally - mildly, calmly, appropriately - about how badly his face is itching as heals.

It's almost like they're normal people, Thor thinks. A normal couple. Despite himself he’s even gotten relatively comfortable with the idea of Loki's false identity.

As long as he doesn't think too long and hard about what Odin would say... or the rest of the office... if the secret got out, Thor is fine.

~

The sixth week starts out innocuously enough, too, looking for all the world as though it’s going to be more of the same.

On Monday the maxillofacial surgeon's office calls, and Thor sets up an appointment for the following week to have Loki's metalwork removed - if everything looks good on x-ray, that is. The removal process itself counts as another surgery – Loki may need to be sedated, has to be monitored the rest of the day, and will probably be in quite a bit of pain – but Thor moves some client meetings around and Sif agrees to help out as needed. They’ve got this. And another week later Loki will be able to eat and drink and _live_ normally again. It’s exciting.

Thor has to be in court the day of Loki's x-ray appointment. When he looks it up, he discovers the radiology office is only a few doors down from the methadone clinic. Thor ultimately calls Sigyn, who has had several weeks off from her Loki-sitting duties now, and makes arrangements for her to pick Loki up on her way to work.

The appointment is late in the afternoon, which is convenient for everyone. Loki promises to wait at the radiology office afterwards, so Thor can pick him up on the way home from court. All the pieces fall neatly into place, with comparatively little fuss.

It’s easy. Simple.

~

The evening he’s scheduled to pick Loki up, Thor's running late coming out of court. He probably should have called, or texted, or something... but this judge is super-strict about what she refers to as "portable electronic devices," like they're all on some stupid airplane, and the afternoon was crazy busy; in the end he didn't have time to run out to his storage locker.

Plus, it's not like he’s hours behind. All in all, it’s only about forty-five minutes.

So, when he texts Loki on the way to the x-ray place and gets no answer, he's more annoyed than anything. Tired and annoyed. It’s certainly nothing worth fighting over.

When he gets there, though, it turns out - from the hours printed next to the door, below the forehead-and-nose-print he makes trying to see inside - the office closed at 6:00. Half an hour later the place is completely abandoned; doors locked, lights on their night security settings, employees long gone. There isn’t even a night watchman.

Thor _calls_ Loki this time... five rings and it goes to voicemail. "You're scaring me, baby," he says, but he mostly joking and he keeps his tone light. Loki's probably just down at the clinic, after all. There's no reason to panic.

~

Except Loki's _not_ at the clinic. It's just Sigyn and some cheerful young guy Thor's never seen before. "Shit, Thor," Sigyn says when he explains why he's there. "You couldn't have called? Really?" She sounds irritated, sure, but she doesn't even bother to look up from her filing. It’s not like she’s really upset with him, then. Not yet, anyway. Good. “He probably figured you ditched him and called a cab. Or just walked home,” she says with a small shrug. “It’s nice out there today.”

"But it was only three-quarters of an hour," he tells her, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture about promptness and responsibility.

Instead, Sigyn’s head jerks up. She looks straight at Thor, her mouth hanging open. Right there in front of him - as he stands there watching, speechless – pretty much all of the color drains from her face, leaving just two bright pink splotches high on her cheeks. "He- he didn't tell you?"

It’s a simple enough question, but it stops him cold. Just like that, Thor feels like she looks - as though his blood has turned to ice water. "Didn't tell me what," he demands, voice wavering more than a little. He clears his throat. "What's going on?"

"They moved his appointment - he had to be there an hour earlier. I dropped him off and came here afterwards; I was early, sure, but I had plenty to do and it was no big deal. I didn't mind," she assures him. She looks at the counter and then back up at Thor, swallowing hard. "He told me he'd called you, and that you were leaving work early. He _told_ me," she stresses, looking very much like she might cry.

Thor whips out his phone: no messages, no missed calls.

"Sometimes Loki tells- well, stories," Thor offers. Whatever happened is not Sigyn's fault, and he shouldn’t take it out on her. He’s learning not to do that; not to be the guy who terrifies everyone.

She nods.

"I'd better get home," Thor continues. All of a sudden, out of pretty much nowhere, he really doesn't want to be here. He can't shake the feeling he's wasting precious time; time he just doesn't have to spare.

~

"Loki, please. I'm not mad. I promise. I'm just worried," he tells Loki's voicemail on the short drive home. "Please call me!" He knows he sounds frantic, but that’s okay. He _is_ a little frantic.

This should have been so easy.

~

The apartment is dark. Nothing really looks out of place, although the mail is lying on the kitchen counter rather than scattered across the foyer floor. So, someone has been here. While Sif has a key – she’s typically the one who keeps an eye on the place when he’s away, since she lives close by – there’s really no reason Thor can think of that would cause her to stop by without calling.

“Loki,” he calls out. “LOKI?”

Nothing. Silence.

Thor flips the lights on, one after another, as he walks from room to room. A cursory check of the place – living room, dining room, bathroom – turns up absolutely nothing; nothing broken, nothing spilled, no noise, no Loki. He sticks his head in the bedroom and flicks the overhead light switch, but there’s nothing to see there either. The bed is still made; the closet is closed. Everything is neat and quiet and still.

 _What the fuck?_ Yes, he didn’t show up when he’d said he would. Yes, he should have called. Still, this is getting ridiculous. He doesn’t deserve to be punished like this, not for such a small infraction.

He stomps back out to the living room and calls Loki’s phone yet again. This time, he’s kind of had it; he’s feeling a little less obligated to keep his mounting frustration to himself. This time he’s going to say what he needs to say and fuck the consequences.

Except he never gets to the point of leaving a voicemail.

A second or so after he taps the number, Thor hears Loki’s phone ring. 

Down the hall, from the bedroom.

~

At first Thor actually can’t move. He’s literally paralyzed, glued to the spot. His brain won’t work. His feet won’t work.

Then time starts to move forward again, and he runs.

~

Loki is on the floor, across the room, crumpled mostly-face-down in the narrow space between the bed - _their_ bed - and the far wall. He is quiet and still, curled on one side in a cruel mockery of sleep.

There isn’t any blood – just some saliva, and a little cloudiness that’s probably vomit.

_Please, god, no._

Thor shoves the bed out of the way, barely even registering the noise as everything on the nightstand crashes to the floor. “Loki, no. Please, no. Oh god.” Thor is no good at this. He doesn’t even know what to do. It’s been since grade school, probably, that he last (ever?) took CPR. _Think,_ he commands himself, trying to picture what they do on TV. It’s utterly fucking hopeless. He can’t function at all.

If Loki is dead, he- he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Loki, can you hear me?” Thor gently touches his brother’s shoulder and then, when that gets no response, shakes Loki roughly. “Loki,” he practically screams. “Loki, you have to answer me. Please!”

He can’t do this. He can’t. He needs help.

Thor fumbles for his phone, hands shaking, somehow managing to knock it off the bed and drop it two or three times before he gets his shit together enough to call Sif.

When she answers, he can hardly talk. She tries to give him directions but he- he just can’t. He can’t handle this, can’t do this, can’t cope.

“I’ll be right there,” she promises instead.

“Stay on the phone with me,” Thor desperately wants to plead, but he can’t get the words out in time and she’s gone.

~

Sif is, as always, unflappable. Completely calm under pressure. She lets herself in without knocking – Thor hears the door, but can’t even call out – and then hurries back to meet him in the bedroom. “Where is he,” she asks. Thor points, unable to even speak; she spins around, takes a few steps, and drops to her knees at Loki’s side.

As she puts her fingers against his brother’s pale neck, checking for a pulse, Thor has to look away. He simply can’t watch. He can’t. All he can do is drop to his own knees, hands fisted in his own hair, and howl.

~

“Thor!” By the insistent tone of her voice, it’s not the first time she’s said his name, but his brain is barely working. “Thor, please. I need you to be quiet and listen to me.”

He tries to do what she asks; she’s here to help, after all. He can hear himself breathing in ragged sobs, but he doesn’t think he’s screaming anymore. He can hear street sounds again, and the tick of a clock. This will have to do.

“Are you with back here with me, Thor,” Sif asks from her post behind the bed.

“Y-yes.” It’s mostly true. True enough.

“He’s alive. Sh-sh,” she soothes as Thor can’t help but start fucking bawling. “It’s going to be okay. Really. I’m sure of it. But right now I need you to get me something from the kitchen.”

~

Thor’s hands just aren’t following commands. He eventually does manage to grab the box she asked for, but not before he dumps half the contents of the countertop all over the place.

“Thor,” Sif yells from the bedroom, “calm down. Please. I need your help, now, and you’re useless like this.”

She’s right. He knows it.

It doesn’t do a bit of good.

~

Now that he knows his brother is alive, Thor has no excuse to hide. He makes himself watch. He watches Sif pop the safety cap off the Narcan. Watches her twist the big, long needle onto a plastic syringe and stab the bottle with practiced ease. Watches her draw the clear liquid and tap out the bubbles.

Watches her yank Loki’s sweats down and stab the huge fucking thing into the muscle of his brother’s skinny little ass.

Watches her re-cap the needle, one-handed, without even really having to look at it. _Thank god she’s here,_ Thor thinks. He could never do this. Never.

She turns and meets his eyes. “This probably won’t be pretty,” she warns. “Can you help me get him up on the bed?”

Even as dead weight, Loki is thin and light. It doesn’t take much for the two of them to plop him neatly on the mattress. He lies limp, two or three thin strands of drool trailing from his mouth to the sheets beneath his head.

“Can I hold him,” Thor asks. Never in his life has he felt so fucking helpless.

Sif shakes her head. “Once he’s awake, sure, but let’s find out what sort of shape he’s in before we get too close.”

She’s the expert; he defers. Well, for the most part… he can’t- he just can’t not take one of Loki’s limp hands in his own.

~

Nothing happens, for what seems like an eternity. In reality, it’s probably not even five minutes before Loki starts to stir. His breathing picks up. He chokes a little, drooling more than he had been, and Sif helps Thor reposition his brother more safely.

“Can you hear me, baby,” she asks quietly as Thor squeezes Loki’s cold fingers.

When Loki opens his eyes, Thor’s chest constricts painfully. He might just implode.

Loki blinks. “Thor,” he says, voice hoarse.

Regardless of Sif’s warning Thor gathers his brother up, hugging nearly hard enough to break bones. There is nothing, just nothing, he can say.


End file.
